


none of the beautiful words that exist can explain you

by neverlxnd



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Artist Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten, Chittaphon Leechaiyapornkul | Ten-centric, Cuddles, Fluff, M/M, Mentioned Lee Taeyong, Photography, Seo Youngho | Johnny is a Sweetheart, Shy Ten, Slow Burn, Soft Kisses, Soft Seo Youngho | Johnny, Ten is a panicked gay, Time Skips, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, With A Twist, idk what else to tag oof, johnten, the lees are brothers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-24 00:22:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16629284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neverlxnd/pseuds/neverlxnd
Summary: it takes 36 exposures for ten to realize just how much he likes johnnyalternatively, ten moves and johnny teaches him how to develop film





	none of the beautiful words that exist can explain you

**Author's Note:**

> im back bc im on break yEET
> 
> there wasn't any soft works in the johnten tags recently so i had to cry while i wrote this fluff
> 
> title is from angel by nct127

There has always been something fascinating about capturing movement and vibrancy in a single frame. Sometimes it’s more than one frame, it’s several and often ones in sequence.

 

Ten’s favourite form of photography is film. It had been polaroid’s at first, paying an overpriced amount of money for a piece of plastic, but it had still gotten the job done. It had been an interest then, that way it didn’t even matter that he used half of his savings to buy that polaroid camera. Then, after graduating, he took a class on photography and found it was cheaper and more of a thrill to use older cameras. Sure, he had to find a suitable film camera among the several ads online, but it had all been worth it when he got his first can of film developed.

 

“ _Why don’t you just learn to develop film yourself?_ ”

 

Despite not seeing each other on the phone, Ten rolls his eyes at Mark. He sandwiches his phone between his ear and his shoulder, pulling out his keys and shoving the door open.

 

“Like I haven’t already, Mark.” Ten sets the box in his arm down before clutching his phone back in his hand. “I don’t have the space, do you know how much chemicals are used to develop film?”

“ _No, because I chose music, not photography.”_

 

Ten heaves a sigh as he sits down on the small loveseat in his living room. The apartment is still empty and he has yet to unbox his things and put them in their place. Dropping everything and moving seemed like a good idea in Ten’s mind, and it was, but not in terms of his financial state.

 

“ _Oh shit, did I say something?_ ”

Ten blinks rapidly at his baby blue walls before clearing his throat. “No, Mark, jeez. I was just looking at my apartment. It needs more… I don’t know.”

“ _P_ _izzaz? Oh! Like something off of pinterest!”_

“Could you have used a less lame word?” Ten chuckles into the phone. “Anyways, I should get unpacking. Say hi to the kids for me.”

“ _Okay, mom. And Renjun wouldn’t like being called a kid.”_

“Shut up, Renjun can’t even walk to the library by himself, and tell your mom I said hi too.” Ten rolls his eyes at Mark dramatically sighing into the phone before the younger bids goodbye and hangs up the phone.

 

Ten places his hands on his hips and looks around his living room. _Pizzaz_. _Pinterest_. Mark is a lot of things, and lame is definitely one of those things, but he might be onto something. He grabs his phone and opens his safari, no way in _hell_ is he going to download the pinterest app. He’s gone 21 years without it, he can go many years more.

 

He finds himself looking at his maps app instead, scrolling through the list of options in his search of ‘ _photo studios_ ’. He scrolls past the obviously expensive shops and comes to a slow when he sees the title ‘ _graphy studios_ ’. He clicks on the picture attached and nervously bites on his lip as he eyes the battered-looking shop. He ignores the offered approximated 30 minute walk in the bottom corner and clicks on the directions. It doesn’t seem _that_ far of a walk, he thinks to himself as he grabs his keys and his camera bag before walking out the door and into the cold.

 

If moving in general is hard, moving in the winter is worse. Even though Ten had help from his mom’s coworkers, he still managed to get bruises on his shins and bandages on one, or three fingers. He’s not used to a cold winter, so gloves were never really a necessity, alas he’s stuck with shoving his hands in the warmth of his coat pockets and scrunching his fingers until he can feel his nails pressing against his palms. Every now and then, he has to tear his eyes away from his new surroundings to look at his phone and make sure he’s going the right way. Which he comes to find is hard. There’s so many things, too many things happening that Ten wants to see, to capture. His memory can only do so much.

 

He’s sure by the time he reaches Graphy Studios, his fingertips are frozen and his nose is a shade not too far from an apple. He’s practically screaming to the gods when he walks inside, warmth flooding his body and a comfy chair waiting for him. He sits down in a random chair, picked from the many in the row, and shoves his hands underneath his thighs in attempt to thaw his numb fingers.

 

“Hi, can I help you?”

 

He’s too busy blowing air onto his fingertips to see the tall boy standing behind the counter, but when he does–his breathing comes to a halt and he’s stuck with, not only still frozen fingertips, but a frozen tongue. So he lets out the only thing that he can muster.

 

“ _Huh_?”

 

Ten prides himself on speaking and knowing when and what to say. He’s good at words and holding a conversation, but for some reason  _huh_ was the only thing that came out. He’s not even sure if that was _real,_  but he must have said _something_ right because the boy lets out a chuckle.

 

“I said, can I help you? Besides unfreezing hands, it’s not really on our list of services here.”

 

The boy’s voice is moderate, his tone is gentle and light. It’s not the type of voice Ten was expecting from the lengthy giant behind the counter, but it’s not unpleasant by any means.

 

“Um.” Ten mumbles, slowly lowering his hands to rest on top of his thighs. “Right, yeah. I came here to–” He twists his body to grab his camera bag, fumbling with removing the strap from his shoulder. He can hear the boy giggling and it does _nothing_ but spur the blush on his cheeks.

 

“You shoot film?” The boy asks before Ten can fully open his bag.

 

His surprise must show on his face as he numbly nods.

 

“Sorry, I just noticed your bag is one of the older ones so, I just thought–” The boy looks down at the counter with a lopsided grin. “I don’t mean to like, assume anything.”

“It actually is one of the older ones.” _There it is,_ his voice. Ten clears his throat, finally finding his voice again and standing to walk up to the counter. “I’ve had it for awhile now, but I’m not really here to show you my camera, am I?”

The boy smiles, shaking his head. “No, but you could if you wanted to. I’m all ears.”

“Maybe next time.” Ten smirks.

 

Maybe it’s the blush that spreads across the boy’s cheeks, or the way he’s tapping his fingers alongside the edge of the counter, but Ten can feel his confidence returning back to him and he suddenly wants to see that blush spread further.

 

“So, what _are_ you here for?” The boy asks.

Ten nods his head with a drawn out, ‘ah’. “I need to develop some film.”

 

When the boy nods, Ten reaches into his bag and grasps the two plastic canisters of film and slides them across the counter to the boy. He watches the brown haired boy pick up the canister before setting it back down.

 

“Problem?” Ten asks, tilting his head and leaning forward against the counter.

The boy blinks once before a smile creeps onto his lips and he shakes his head. “No problem. It’s just–normally, I need a name to develop film.”

“Oh, you _need_ a name? It’s impossible to develop the film without knowing my name?” Ten asks with a smirk.

The boy rolls his eyes. “I can do it, but if you want them back I need your number.”

 

Ten almost lets his guard down, he almost lets the boy have the satisfaction of stuttering and melting. _Almost_.

 

“So, it’s my number you need now? What’s next, a date?”

 

This seems to catch the boy’s fast tongue, his mouth opening and closing while a blush spreads on his cheeks once again. Ten wants to point it out, but he’ll save it for another time.

 

“My name’s Ten, in case you needed it.”

“I do, I need to write it on file.” The boy murmurs, turning his back and grabbing a flimsy binder. “Ten?” He asks as he fills out a form. “Strange name, got anything to do with your photography?”

“Maybe.” Ten shrugs. “I guess you’ll have to see for yourself when you develop these.” He taps the canisters with his finger.

 

The boy contemplates this, switching between looking at the canister and Ten’s eyes. He goes back to filling out the form in the blink of an eye, and Ten doesn’t know why he feels the deflating in his stomach.

 

“We’ll see.”

 

It’s quiet for the next couple minutes while the boy fills out the paper, then reaches underneath the counter and pulls out a metal drawer before placing Ten’s labelled canisters inside. Ten raises his eyebrow when the boy slides the paper over, along with a pen.

 

“You were serious about the number?” Ten asks.

“Of course. How else am I supposed to let you know your pictures are ready? Telepathy?” The boy grins before turning his back to put Ten’s canisters away. “But don’t worry, I won’t ask you for dates. Strictly photos.”

 

Ten’s cheeks heat up and he’s glad that the boy is turned around and facing _away_ from him, where he can’t see the burning blush on his face.

 

“They should be done sometime tomorrow. I can’t give specifics since pictures have a way of showing up on their own.” The boy says as he turns back around the face Ten.

Ten composes himself, taking his camera bag off of the counter and back around his shoulder. “So can I ask for your name now, or do I have to wait tomorrow for that too?”

 

The boy rolls his eyes, taking the form back and shutting the binder closed. He leans on the counter with a grin, Ten’s never seen eyes shine this bright in dim blue toned lighting.

 

“Johnny.”

“Johnny. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Ten says with a smile before turning around and pushing the door and walking back into the snow.

 

It’s not until Ten’s a block away from his apartment building that he realizes Johnny never asked him to pay. Almost as soon as he gets back inside the warm cocoon of his apartment, his feet automatically carry him to his box of art supplies. The sky's still blue, clouds covering the sun like a blanket over a flashlight.

 

Winter has always been one of Ten’s favourite seasons, the cold has its way of clouding people’s judgement and surpass seeing the crisp white snowflakes blanketing over the city, the powder blue sky that never seems to change until dusk reaches and then darkness falls with the stars shining as if they’re streetlights onward to heaven.

 

“Pizzaz.” Ten whispers to himself as he sits back on his hands and examines the baby blue walls.

 

Ten doesn’t normally make a habit of excessive thinking about stranger’s eyes, or how silky their hair appears, but that doesn’t stop him from staring into the painted walls of his living room and letting his mind drift to Johnny’s warm eyes. Ten finds himself cursing when he realizes that he spent so much time at the shop just _thinking_ about Johnny’s looks, but didn’t actually _look_ at Johnny. The only thing clogging his memory is Johnny’s soft cluster of brown eyes and the parallel kindness in his voice.

 

He unfolds the flaps of the boxes and digs through the paper, the pencils, the books until he finds his ruler, his cutting mat and drafting paper. When he sprawls the massive and thin paper out against the cutting mat, he rolls his eyes when he forgets to grab a pencil. He lets out a groan and crawls over to his box but comes to a halt when his phone dings.

 

“For the love of–”

 

His phone goes off once more before he hears the telltale of his ringtone, signalling an incoming call. With a sympathetic gaze to his beginning work in the middle of his living room, he crawls over to his jacket and retrieves his phone.

 

_Unknown Caller_

 

Ten cocks his head at the caller ID. None of his friends mentioned changing their number, otherwise they would have warned him with a text before doing so. Maybe it’s his bad skill at intuition, or maybe he has no paranoia when it comes to strangers and calling, but he answers it with a shrug.

 

“Hello?” He answers cautiously.

 

He’s half expecting for a voice like Ghostface to come on, a gnarly and strangely voice to tell him he’s going to die in seven days, but what comes shakes Ten’s nerves far more than any scary movie has.

 

“ _I_ _s this Ten? Hey, it’s Johnny.”_

 

Ten tears his phone away from his ear to stare at his screen, the seconds going _up up up_ as he wastes time looking at his phone. There’s muffling coming from the speaker, so with rapid reflexes, he brings his phone back up to his ear.

 

“ _I got the wrong number, didn’t I?”_ Johnny’s voice holds uncertainty, an awkward clip to his tongue. “ _....I could have sworn I typed each digit in_ –”

 

Ten wants to laugh and coo at Johnny for his distant voice, he imagines Johnny leaning away from the phone to check the form Ten wrote on earlier, furrowed eyebrows and a pout on his lips. That’s when he realizes, he hasn’t said _a word_ since he accepted the call.

 

“Shit.” Ten blurts.

_“Uh, hello?”_

“Um, hey. Not shit, I mean hi!” Ten bites his tongue and rolls his eyes. Johnny isn’t even _here_ , why is he being so ridiculous? “Sorry. I was working on something and I wasn’t expecting anyone to call, I’m just frazzled is all.”

_“Oh, did I catch you at a bad time? I can call later?”_

 

Ten peels his phone from his ear to check the time, _7:39pm_. As much as Ten would love to finish his draft, he also can’t miss an opportunity to talk to a gorgeous stranger he just met today.

 

“No! I mean, no. It’s fine, it can wait.” Ten ignores the heat in his cheeks and instead opts for leaning his back against the bottom of his couch. “What did you need?”

Johnny hums on the other end for a moment. “ _How big did you want the prints?”_

 

Ten looks across the living room to where his drafting paper sits. He cocks his head to the side and purses his lips in thought. Without wasting a second, he crawls over to the paper and begins to roughly measure out the smallest size of prints he’s gotten and then approximates the largest.

 

“What’s the largest size you do?” Ten asks, biting his lip.

“ _Gimme a sec.”_

 

Even though it’s more of a statement than a request, Ten still hums in acknowledgement. While he waits for Johnny, he takes the pencil from behind his ear and begins to sketch out more lines.

 

“ _Okay, I checked in the back and the biggest we can develop is 8x12. Is that okay?”_

 

As soon as he hears Johnny say the numbers, he grabs his ruler and begins to roughly sketch out the measurements. Ten imagines that all the latter can hear is the scribbling of his pencil and his soft breathing.

 

“ _Are these pictures for a project?”_ Johnny’s voice is timid and soft, and if Ten didn’t feel the weight of his phone pressed between his ear and shoulder, he would’ve thought Johnny was right beside him.

“Sort of.” Ten responds, just as gentle.

_“So, 8x12?”_

 

Ten was expecting Johnny to pry more and ask more questions regarding his ‘project’, but he’s surprised when all Johnny does is change the subject.

 

Ten blinks at the lines on his paper, the roughly drafted squares. “Yeah, 8x12 should be fine.”

“ _Sorry we don’t have any bigger sizes, I forgot to ask about the sizing when you were here.”_ Ten can hear the nervousness in his chuckle that Johnny releases. “ _I would’ve recommended a better shop if I had just asked.”_

 

Ten thinks back to how Johnny didn’t mention any sort of payment, so he can’t help but think, _that’s not the only thing you forgot._

 

“No, it’s fine. I probably should’ve remembered, with how many shops I’ve been to before.” Ten shrugs.

“ _Why’d you change up shops?”_

“I just moved here, Graphy Studios was just a random pick.”

“ _A good one_ .” Ten can feel just how hot his face is, and for _christ’s sake_ , Johnny shouldn’t have this much power over him already, they _just met_ . “ _Anyways, I’ll let you go. Thanks for answering, it was probably a bad idea to call when you don’t have my number saved yet.”_

 

_Yet._

 

“But I answered, didn’t I?”

 

Ten imagines Johnny at the shop, behind the counter, maybe even in the back sitting on a stool. The gentle smile on his lips as he chuckles through the phone, his hand running through his hazelnut hair as the sound of rustling comes from his end.

 

“ _You did."_  Johnny chuckles. _"Bring your wallet tomorrow_.”

Ten sputters. “Excuse me?”

_“It’s around $24.21 for the prints.”_

“Oh.”

 

There it is, the pricing. Suddenly, Ten knows what that deflating feeling is, but it doesn’t mean he’s going to acknowledge it. It’s not like Ten was expecting to get free prints, especially not with the way Johnny smiles at him, but that’s _exactly_ why he thought he was getting free prints. Johnny’s sweet smile that could end wars and cure sadness.

 

“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

_"See you tomorrow, Ten. Goodnight.”_

“Goodnight.”

 

That night, Ten spends exactly two hours finishing the drafted design for his living room, after hanging up the phone with Johnny. Before going to bed, he looks once at the paper with sketches and lines, and once at his living room and it’s bare walls. It’s not _quite_ pinterest, but he thinks Mark and his friends would like it when they come to visit. Maybe Johnny would even like it.

 _0_  


Ten prides himself on his memory skills when he pries open the heavy door to Graphy Studios, gladly inviting the warmth of the building into his body. When he goes to sit down, Johnny isn’t behind the counter, in fact _nobody_ seems to be around and Ten begins to wonder if this is why they have bad ratings on Google.

 

He finds himself shoving his fingers under his thighs to defrost them, occasionally bringing them up to his lips to blow onto his fingertips. This morning when he woke, he was surprised to find texts from Johnny.

 

_Johnny_

_good morning ten, your prints are ready_

 

_Johnny_

_shit, i forgot about the business talk_

 

_Johnny_

_Hello, good morning. Your prints are ready to be picked up!_

 

Ten remembers how three simple texts had made him stumble out of bed, quicker than any lecture or meet-up had ever in the past.

 

“Still no gloves?”

 

Ten jumps at the sound of Johnny’s voice, despite how gentle his tone is. When he looks up, Johnny is smiling at him from behind the counter and Ten can easily say that Johnny holds the title of Angel from heaven.

 

“No.” Ten responds. “This is kind of the first place I stopped by this morning.”

Johnny raises his eyebrows and taps his pen on the counter. “That project is important then?” Ten tries to swim through the memories in his head, trying to retrieve any kind of memory of this ‘project’ Johnny is motioning towards. “I’ll be right back.”

 

Ten watches Johnny disappear in the back, so he stands up with his fingers clutching the strap of his camera bag. When Johnny comes back through the swinging door, his hand is occupied with the same drawer container Ten saw yesterday. Johnny reaches underneath the counter and pulls out an envelope before places the metal drawer on the counter and slides everything over to Ten.

 

“All done.” Johnny smiles.

 

Maybe Ten _is_ paranoid, or maybe he should’ve looked at Graphy Studios’ website for their price list, but he can’t help but feel that this is some sort of trick. As if at the same time Ten grabs his canisters, a crowd will appear and accuse him of theft. But when he slowly grabs the canisters from the container, Johnny is still smiling.

 

It’s _annoyingly adorable_.

 

“Aren’t you supposed to charge me?” Ten finally asks. “I mean, this _is_ a service, that usually follows by some sort of payment.”

“What are you suggesting?” Johnny’s lips are tilted up in a coy and teasing smile, one that sends Ten rolling his eyes and shielding his blush behind his sharp tongue.

“ _Not_ anything you’re thinking of.” Ten snips. “You told me to bring my wallet last night.”

Johnny nods with that same _annoying_ coy smile. “Yeah, I did, didn’t I?”

 

Ten shoves the canisters in his bag and slides the envelope of photos in the larger compartment before Johnny can take back his word, not that Ten would expect that. Somehow, Johnny doesn’t seem to be the type of person that goes back on his word.

 

“How much is it?” Ten asks as he reaches for his wallet.

Johnny hums, taps his chin. “On the house.”

Ten stutters his hand from pulling his wallet out from his coat pockets, in favour of looking up at Johnny bewildered. “Sorry?”

Johnny smiles and turns his back to put the drawer back in place on the shelf. “It’s on the house. Free. Paid for.”

Ten squints his eyes at Johnny’s back. Johnny’s broad back, the cotton material of his black t-shirt stretched against the wide span. “What? You told me to bring my wallet.”

 

Johnny comes out from behind the counter and it’s the first time Ten’s seen the bottom half of his body. If it were possible to fall for Johnny’s body proportions even more, Ten just did. The wide span of Johnny’s back is nothing compared to the thick and lengthy legs clad in black skinny jeans.

 

“I did.” Johnny murmurs before walking towards the corner where a coat rack hangs. “Which means you’re paying for the coffee we’re about to get.” Johnny cranes his neck to smile at Ten over his shoulder, throwing on his jacket.

 

Ten wants to scold Johnny for ordering him around, he wants to tell Johnny that nobody gets to give him free prints and then subtly ask him out for coffee. Instead, he rolls his eyes and follows Johnny out the door.

 

Everything about Johnny screams safety. Ten would blame it on the muscular look of his arms against the diner’s table, or the broadness of his shoulders against the diner’s cushioned booth.

 

“If you don’t mind me prying.” Johnny begins, taking a sip of his coffee. “What are those pictures for?”

 

Ten debates on telling Johnny but quickly abandons the idea of keeping it to himself. Just last night he was fantasizing about showing Johnny his finished living room in his apartment.

 

Ten grips his coffee cup. “Nothing really. Just decorative purposes for my living room. My friend back home suggested to look at Pinterest for ideas but I hate that app more than I hate my high school life.”

Johnny’s mouth drops open in shock. “You don’t like Pinterest? That’s the Gods of craft and DIY, how could you _not_ like it.”

Ten shrugs. “It’s just super cringey. Most of the crafts on there are for mothers and fifteen-year old girls.”

“So you _have_ been on Pinterest.” Johnny narrows his eyes with a smile.

“I’d rather die.” Ten gags. “No, one of my friends is an addict. I started practicing my surprised smile for Christmas when he undoubtedly gives me one of his Pinterest crafts as a present.”

 

Johnny laughs, and it’s not one of the chuckles he’s heard over the phone. It’s loud and resonating. It’s all teeth and eyes squinted in hysteria. There’s a blossoming feeling settling in the pit of Ten’s stomach, he blames it on sipping his coffee a little too fast.

 

“At least it’ll be from the heart.” Johnny concludes with a smile.

“I guess you’re right.” Ten mumbles.

“How long have you been doing film photography?” Johnny asks, picking at his strawberry scone.

Ten suddenly feels hungry for that scone. “I don’t know, actually. Maybe three years?”

“And you haven’t learned to develop film yourself?” Johnny raises his eyebrows. “You’d be saving a whole lot of money if you did.”

Ten groans and pouts. “You and everybody else has told me that. I tried.”

“What happened?” Johnny asks.

 

Johnny talks with a benevolent spark to his voice, it’s not intruding or prying, it’s gentle and kind and Ten suddenly _can’t_ see why they have such bad reviews on Google. Not when they have a whole Johnny.

 

“I didn’t have the space, not enough money for the right chemicals and supplies.” Ten shrugs. “It’s just something I’m going to have to learn later.”

 

Johnny is quiet for some time and Ten sort of worries that he scared Johnny with how openly he was showcasing his disappointment in himself. Johnny sighs and runs a hand through his hair, but then looks up to meet Ten’s eyes with a glint and a smile.

 

“I could teach you?”

 

Ten blinks at Johnny, mostly because he’s sort of stunned by the shine in Johnny’s eyes, but because he’s absolutely sure that he misheard him.

 

_"What?"_

 

Johnny shrugs, and Ten _swears_ he sees the slightest change of colour in his cheeks. “The shop barely has customers, so we wouldn’t be a distraction to service.”

 

Ten contemplates this. Being alone in a dark room with Johnny for who knows how long, learning how to develop his own photos. It sounds like a practical joke from God. There’s no way he’d be able to stay in a cramped room with Johnny and _chemicals_.

 

“Are you sure?” Ten asks once more, fidgeting his cup around in his fingers.

“As sure as the sky.”

 

Ten stares at Johnny a little longer than usual, too focused on the way Johnny’s cheeks taper down into a slim jawline. He finds he likes the way Johnny’s chin is small and causes his top lip to pout over his bottom lip more. It’s probably a bad idea to be alone with Johnny when he can’t even answer a simple question without falling into an abyss of _Johnny Johnny Johnny_.

 

“I’m sorry, I can’t.” Ten sighs. “I don’t want to be a burden or get you in trouble, and I’m sort of busy with unpacking and finding a job.”

 

For a moment, Ten thinks Johnny looks disappointed, or sad, but he blames it on his mind playing tricks on him because he’s actually drinking coffee during the day for once.

 

“That’s alright. It wouldn’t be a burden, but if you’re too busy, what can you do?” Johnny says with that same smile that melts Ten’s knees. All he can do is nod and stand up, slipping his coat on. Johnny follows in silence, slipping on his coat and sliding a note underneath his coffee mug. “I’ll walk you home?” Johnny offers.

 

Ten nods, refusing to use his voice at this point, because he’s not even sure of what will come out. A wheeze? A croak? Probably something in between, and he’s not up for embarrassing himself in front of Johnny for the nth time.

 

The snow is in the state where it’s soft to the touch, but crunches underneath the soles of people’s shoes. Soft enough to stick onto eyelashes and melt in a minute, but stiff enough to form into a ball. Ten looks up at Johnny beside him, he watches the puffs of clouds that slip past his lips in a haste of his passionate sentences. It baffles Ten that Johnny manages to put him at a loss for words, just by breathing, when Ten’s usually been the one to do that to every one of his ex’s in past relationships. He supposes that has to do with the fact that he’s never met someone quite like Johnny.

 

“Sorry for making you get coffee with me, I hope I didn’t make you feel uncomfortable.” Johnny shyly smiles, and Ten thinks it’s a good look on him, but what isn’t a good look on Johnny?

Ten shakes his head. “No, I wanted to. I liked it, thanks for kidnapping me.”

Johnny breathes out a chuckle and Ten wants to chase that cloud of oxygen. “Good to know, I’ll give you a heads up the next time.”

 

Ten’s heart beats faster and his stomach flutters at the thought of another date with Johnny. Although, he’s not sure if Johnny meant for this to be a date, but a boy can imagine.

 

“I’ll see you around.” Ten snorts, pulling out his keys and unlocking his door. He turns around, leaning his head on the door frame. “Goodnight, Johnny.”

“Night, Ten.” Johnny smiles once, for a moment longer, and then turns on his heel and walks down the stairs.

 

It’s not until Ten doesn’t hear Johnny’s footsteps on the staircase anymore that he finally shuts the door behind him and locks it. When he removes his shoes, he feels the weight of his photos in his camera bag and excitedly throws off his jacket. Everything is still where he left them, the drafting paper, the pencil. He grabs the envelope of photos from his bag and sprawls them out onto his carpet.

 

_“I like your pictures. There’s a sort of home feeling to them, it resembles the warmth I can get from observing pieces in a museum.”_

_"You looked at them?”_

_“I’m sorry, I thought you wanted me to. I didn’t mean to overstep_ –”

_“No, you didn’t. I’m actually glad you looked, I usually need a second opinion on them, but none of my friends are in the city.”_

_“They’re nice. I’ve never seen someone take so many pictures of sceneries and lights, but have each of them entice a entirely different story. They’re beautifully raw.”_

 

Beautifully raw.

 

In the past, Ten’s gotten compliments of his use of lighting, has gotten appreciative smiles and surprised faces, but he’s never gotten _beautifully raw._ He supposes it’s the closest thing he could wish for a compliment, but that might have to do with it coming from Johnny.

 

He spends the rest of his night deciding on the placement on his photos, deciding on what material of cord he should use, if he should frame them. He finds using cord rather than string would be more efficient, and that using a frame would be heavier but worth the tacking and screwing he’s going to be doing. With a sigh, he flops onto his carpet with a huff. He’s staring at the ceiling when he starts contemplating Johnny’s offer. He’s overthinking this, obviously Johnny is just being nice and wants to help him out. He’s being dramatic, thinking about losing focus when Johnny’s arms will brush his own, when he’ll be breathing the same dense and polluted air as Johnny. None of this should matter when he could be getting taught how to develop pictures, and for free he might add. With a roll of his eyes, he grabs his phone.

 

_Ten_

_if the offer is still on the table, i’d love to learn_

 

_Johnny_

_offer is definitely still on the table. if you’re not busy, meet me at the shop tomorrow at 5._

 

5? Ten nervously bites his lip. Isn’t that a bit late? As if Johnny _is_ telepathic, he sends another text.

 

_Johnny_

_that’s when we have the slowest income of customers, sorry it’s so late_

 

_Ten_

_no no, it’s fine. i’ll be there, see you tomorrow :)_

 

_Johnny_

_:)_

 

Ten breathes a sigh of relief and he refuses to acknowledge the lighter feeling in his chest as he heads to bed.

 _0_  


“How long does it usually take for you to empty a roll?” Johnny asks, taking off his coat and hanging it on the rack.

 

Ten notices Johnny’s nose is still pink from the cold weather outside, it takes all of the strength he can muster to not kiss him on the nose.

 

“About two weeks, usually. But since I just moved and I still haven’t unpacked, it might take me a bit longer.” Ten shrugs off his coat, nodding to Johnny when he tells him to hang it over top his.

Johnny walks behind the counter, urging for Ten to follow. “Well I hope you don’t mind, I’ll be waiting until you’re finished. I want to see more.”

 

Ten ignores the butterflies in his stomach when Johnny smiles at him and holds open the door to the back for him. He walks through and waits for Johnny to step in front of him, after all this is _his_ work place.

 

“It’s just past his door.” Johnny points to the swinging door in the dim lighting.

“Are you sure you’re not going to murder me.” Ten jokes, following Johnny anyway. “You’re perfect for a secret psycho.”

“What?” Johnny stops and turns around to narrow his eyes at Ten. “Am not!” Ten chuckles, shoving Johnny forward and–wow, Johnny’s back is sturdy and– “How am I the perfect secret psycho? I’m going to need some proof.”

Ten retracts his hand and clears his throat. “Well you–you’re just, your face! In every movie, there’s the hot serial killer and he’s all mysterious in the beginning, he has these dark eyebrows and sexy hair. You know–”

“You think I have dark eyebrows and sexy hair?” Johnny smirks over his shoulder.

Ten rolls his eyes. “Shut up.”

 

In every movie, there’s also the protagonist. The main character who has soft eyes and delicate smiles. Johnny is every sense and form of the word.

 

“Here we are.” Johnny says, pushing back a curtain.

 

The room is still considerably dark, the smallest of light emitting red and orange tones. Ten’s only ever been in a dark room once, for his photography class. It was sort of an orientation to the class, an opening lecture to the course. The dinginess of red bounces off of Johnny’s face, the sharp lines of his cheekbones shining with red and orange light.

 

“Sorry it’s so dark, we have to keep it dark so the film doesn’t get exposed.” Johnny explains.

 

It’s ridiculous how safe and secure Ten feels with Johnny, all with just the sound of his voice. Normally, one wouldn’t feel protected when you’re in a dark room with someone you met two days ago. But it’s Johnny. Ten’s not sure what that means for himself and his feelings, but he decides to push it aside for now because Johnny’s mouth is moving.

 

“I’ll set everything up first so you don’t have to move much.” Johnny murmurs before walking about the room.

 

Ten blindly stretches his hands out and takes cautious steps around the room, making sure to keep pace with Johnny. He can hear the latter chuckle in the darkness before he feels a big warm hand sprawl against the bottom of his back.

 

“Your eyes will adjust the more we’re in here, don’t worry.” Johnny mumbles in his ear, sending chills down Ten’s back. “Stay here for a sec, I just need to get the chemicals and our masks.”

“Okay.” Ten stutters out.

“I was hoping we could develop some more of your film, but since you haven’t taken any photos yet, we’ll work on one of our customers.” Johnny hums, walking around the room like second nature.

 

Ten’s eyes widen at the thought of handling someone else’s film, the potential of messing up on the photos. Johnny must sense his concern because he’s chuckling by Ten’s ear once again, and rubbing his shoulder.

 

“Relax, I’ll do all the work. You can watch for now and then we’ll work up to hands on, yeah?” Johnny smiles and even in the darkness, Ten can still see the brightness Johnny’s smile emits.

 

Ten nods again, smiles in return and after putting their masks on, watches Johnny begin to work. While Johnny can sense the passion and Ten’s own touch in his photos, Ten can see the way developing is something Johnny is passionate about. And he can see why. Around forty minutes later, when the latter begins to hang the still-wet photo papers from clips, Ten gasps behind his mask when the photo paper slowly builds into shades. The shapes and lines continue to appear onto the paper until the jagged and mismatched structure forms a picture.

 

“Pretty cool, isn’t it?” Johnny asks, leaning in close so his shoulder is against Ten’s.

 

If Ten wasn’t so fascinated by the whole picture appearing out of chemicals and agitation, he would be melting at the sudden proximity of Johnny. “It is.” Ten mumbles from behind the mask. “You get to do this everyday?”

 

Johnny nods and if the crinkles by his eyes are anything to go by, Ten would guess he’s smiling. “Should we do another order?” Johnny tilts his head, and he resembles somewhat of a puppy.

 

When Ten nods, Johnny begins to do another roll, occasionally explaining things to Ten along the way. By the time they’re out of the dark room, Ten’s eyes are sore and all he wants to do is lay down.

 

“How was that?” Johnny asks, removing his mask once they’re in the lobby.

Ten hums, taking off his mask as well. “It was cool. I’ve always gotten my stuff developed, and I never had a class like that in college, so it was nice to see what goes on behind the picture.”

Johnny smiles and nods. “It really is. Pretty soon you’ll be able to do it yourself.”

 

When Ten gets home that evening, he glances at his camera sitting on the kitchen counter. Suddenly, he wants to empty that fresh roll of film in his camera.

_7_

Ten wants to blame his sudden urge to get Johnny outside other than for work on the fact that the latter seems to spend all of his time on developing photos, but deep down he knows it’s to settle that growing bud in his stomach of wanting to see more of Johnny.

 

“You’re basically saying I’m a hermit.” Johnny rolls his eyes and pulls his toque down.

“That’s not what I’m saying! I just meant that you can’t spend your whole life developing photos and staying in a dark room.”

“That’s a hermit, Ten.” Johnny deadpans, to which Ten whacks him on the arm. “Ow!”

“You have to see more things, _experience_ more things.” Ten spreads his gloved hands out in front of them, gesturing to the city.

 

Ten had finally gotten gloves–well, Johnny had given him gloves the third time he showed up at Graphy Studios with red-tipped fingers that were hidden underneath his thighs.

 

“I can see what you’re saying, but I see enough. I experience different things when I see what people photograph.” Johnny explains.

 

Ten wants to say how beautiful Johnny seems to put his thoughts into words. But instead:

 

“That’s so deep, Johnny. You should do slam poetry.” Ten teasingly smiles.

 

When Johnny throws his head back in laughter, Ten’s fingers begin to itch.

 

Ever since he started kicking around the snow on the sidewalk with Johnny at his side, he’s always had this itch in his fingers that can only be settled if and when he grasps his camera, presses it against his nose and puts pressure on the trigger, snapping another one of his feelings onto film. Alas, he reaches for camera and aims it on Johnny’s smile, Johnny’s hair, Johnny’s face and presses the shutter, hoping the soft click captures his laughter as much as Ten engraves it in his memory.

 _23_  


“ _I just don’t understand why you won’t give it a chance.”_

 

Ten sighs through the phone. “Mark, I’m not downloading Pinterest, for the billionth time. I’m not Taeyong, so stop asking.”

 

_“Taeyong is actually the one who showed me Pinterest, Ten.”_

“Of course he did.” Ten mutters underneath his breath. There’s a knock on his door that jostles him. “Shit, I gotta go.”

_“At least create an account, I’ll set up everything for you and the only thing you’ll have to do is scroll.”_

“You create an account and I’ll tell Taeyong it was you who ordered 100 packs of Schnider’s wieners.”

“ _You shouldn’t hold that against me, I was drunk. And it’s not like Taeyong didn’t_ want _the wieners in the end anyway.”_

“ _Goodbye_ Mark.” Ten snorts and hangs up the phone, throwing it on the couch when a second knock comes.

 

He opens the door to Johnny smiling and holding a box of… donuts? Despite his confusion with the box, Ten opens the door wider to let Johnny in.

 

“Doesn’t your shift end in like.” Ten glances at the new clock on his wall in the kitchen. “A couple hours?”

Johnny shakes his head. “Boss let me off early. Business is unusually slow today.”

 

Ten hums in acknowledgement before going to sit on his couch. The sweater he’s wearing is warm enough for this top half, but his legs are still freezing despite being drowned in his sweatpants. Johnny joins him on the couch with a smile and suddenly, Ten doesn’t feel so cold anymore.

 

“It’s slowly coming together.” Johnny says as he looks around the living room.

 

There’s fairy lights hung on the walls, all specific placements and blank spaces waiting to be filled. Ten supposes it looks _okay_.

 

“I guess so.” Ten mumbles, leaning his head into the couch cushion. “What’s in the box?”

 

Johnny furrows his eyebrows in confusion for a moment before widening his eyes in excitement and reaching at his feet for the box.

 

“I know you said you don’t like regular pancakes, so I brought the next best thing.” Johnny grins as he opens to box to reveal waffle pancakes.

 

Ten wants to say, _fuck the box of waffle pancakes, you’re the next best thing_ , but he’s almost positive that Johnny would scold him for wasting _the next best thing_ , and would then proceed to pick the crispy squares of dough off of his carpet.

 

“You didn’t have to do that.” Ten murmurs, subconsciously inching closer towards Johnny.

Johnny shrugs. “I was hungry, you wanted help on designing, it’s a win-win.”

 

Ten cocks his head with a smile. He’s not sure what _waffle pancakes_ have anything to do with designing but he supposes he’ll let it pass because Johnny is smiling sweetly at him and offering him a plastic fork.

 

It only takes three pancakes to fill Ten up, but Johnny is a bigger boy so it’s no surprise when the latter continues to eat and drizzle syrup on the doughy squares.

 

“You really are an endless pit.” Ten comments, wrinkling his nose when Johnny brings his fork above his mouth, tilts his head back and lowers the pancake drizzled in syrup into his mouth.

“Mhm.” Johnny mumbles through chewing. “You think I’m disgusting now, huh?” Johnny asks with a smirk.

Ten brings his fingers close together in front of his face. “Just a little.”

 

Johnny chuckles and continues to eat his pancakes. It’s only when Ten sees the glistening sweet liquid on the tip of his nose that he suddenly feels like he should be capturing this moment.

 

“Johnny.” Ten softly says. When the taller hums, downing another pancake, he continues. “You have syrup on your nose.”

 

When Johnny pouts and realizes the sticky liquid on his nose, Ten releases the laugh he’s been holding back and reaches for his camera on the coffee table in front of his couch. Ten is content with capturing the radiance bouncing off of Johnny’s nose from the syrup, but then the latter sticks his tongue out and bends it upwards, trying to lick the sweet syrup off. Ten bursts into laughter at the sight of Johnny’s focused eyes meeting in the middle, his pink tongue stretching to its maximum length.

 

He tries his best to steady his hands from shaking in laughter as he brings his eye up to the viewfinder on his camera and waits for the perfect moment. When Johnny finally reaches his tongue on the tip of his nose, Ten presses down on the trigger and releases the shutter with a soft click, followed by the sweet laughter of Johnny’s.

 

Perfect.

  
_36_

“I’m convinced I was born with an eye for measurements.” Ten praises himself behind his mask.

Johnny side-eyes him, earning a whack on his arm from the shorter. “Ow! Okay, so what? That makes you, what, the best measurer in the world?”

 

Ten nods, hands clutching tightly onto the solution and excitedly waiting for Johnny to check the temperature of it.

 

“What makes you so sure?” Johnny asks with a teasing tilt to his eyebrows, taking the thermometer out of the solution.

“I’m always getting the mixtures right. Ever since I was in high school.” Ten smiles, ignoring the fact that Johnny can’t see.

“Let’s see it then.” Johnny steps back to let Ten stand in front of the large film tank on the counter.

 

With a huff, Ten lifts the jug of mixed solution and begins to pour it into the film tank. As the chugging of liquid resonates throughout the room, Ten can feel Johnny press up against his side. There really isn’t a specific juncture or special skill that tells Ten when to stop pouring, he just does. But Johnny is breathing down his neck and watching the solution pour into the container, all while Ten’s focus is going off of the rails. Just as Ten is about to stop pouring, Johnny places his hand to rest on the base of his back, and Ten pushes the squeak down his throat. The surprised shriek doesn’t make it past his lips but he stops pouring and sets the jug down on the counter in panic.

 

“Done?” Johnny questions, a confusing tone to his voice.

 

Ten can only nod, afraid of what might come out. He watches Johnny lift the film tank and examines it before setting in down.

 

“I guess you weren’t kidding. It’s perfect.” Johnny chuckles as he reaches for the film tank once again and begins to shake it, relieving Ten.

 

He finally gains his sense to speak when Johnny finishes shaking the film tank for the past five minutes, then proceeds to pour the solution out into the sink.

 

“I’ll get the stop bath.” Ten mumbles.

 

Once Ten hands Johnny the stop bath, the taller wastes no time in pouring it in. While Johnny shakes the film tank again, Ten busies himself to find the fixer. By the time he finds it, Johnny’s pouring the stop bath out into the sink.

 

“I’ll do it.” Ten says when Johnny reaches for the fixer.

 

The taller stands back with raised hands and chuckles. Ten pours the fixer in, this time being mindful of keeping a distance from Johnny. When he’s done pouring, he begins to shake the film tank.

 

“It’s no wonder your arms are the size of a bull’s leg, this thing is fucking heavy.” Ten pants out, voice tired as he shakes the film tank.

Johnny only responds with a laugh, taking the film tank from Ten and pouring the fixer out. “I didn’t know you saw my arms as bull legs, but thank you. I guess that’s the closest to a compliment I’ll get from you.”

 

It’s a joke, with Johnny’s light-hearted voice followed by his signature chuckle, Ten knows it’s a joke. But it still feels like it’s coming from somewhere deeper.

 

It’s then that Ten realizes he almost never compliments Johnny, save for that one time he mentioned the latter’s _dark eyebrows and sexy hair_ . Johnny compliments him all the time, Ten suddenly recalls. Every time Ten invites Johnny out for a walk to take pictures, Johnny doesn’t ever hesitate to mention Ten’s, and he quotes, “ _adoringly content gaze_ ” whenever he’s taking pictures. Maybe the reason why he fails to compliment Johnny is because he thinks the latter is used to it, he _must be_. Johnny is gorgeous, tall and dorky and has a generous heart. Or maybe it’s because he lets his camera do it for him, Ten hopes Johnny is oblivious to how many pictures he actually takes of him on their walks.

 

“You’re really sweet.” Ten blurts.

Johnny raises an eyebrow at Ten, taking his attention off of clipping the film rolls onto the clotheslines in front of him. “I am?”

 

Ten doesn’t hesitate to nod. He can’t see if Johnny’s blushing or not, but for once he’s not the one praising that the other can’t see.

 

“Thank you, Ten.” Johnny softly says. Ten doesn’t want to believe that Johnny accepting his compliment brings a blush to his own cheeks. “We’ve been developing black and white pictures up until now, these ones are colour so we have to come back to them in a couple hours.”

 

Ten nods and turns around to leave the dark room. When they’re back in the lobby, they take off their masks and Ten reaches for his coat and his camera bag.

 

“You’re leaving?” Johnny asks softly, looking up from his paperwork on the counter.

Ten shrugs. “Don’t you want to? It’s kind of boring to just sit here for hours. There’s only so much of your jokes made out of boredom I can take.”

 

With a roll of his eyes, Johnny stands and slips on his jacket.

 

“Where we going?” Johnny raises an eyebrow.

“Feel like going for a walk?”

  


It turns out a walk somehow transitions into a trip to the store. Ten had remembered his short shopping list for his living room decoration, which then lead to inviting Johnny over to grab that list and embarrassingly apologizing for the mess he already seemed to make in his apartment this morning.

 

“Is this for your project?” Johnny asks, fingers delicately running down the length of string hanging on the wall.

 

Ten studies the various thickness and lengths of string hung against the metal wall. He thought it would be harder to focus on his shopping list with Johnny beside him, but the latter has been nothing but helpful since they got inside the store.

 

“Yeah, I probably should’ve did this earlier.” Ten apologetically shrugs.

“It’s fine, I don’t mind it. I haven’t been inside a home depot since I was a kid.” Johnny chuckles as he slides his finger down a golden cord of woven string.

“Were you born here?” Ten asks, suddenly aware that he only knows so little about Johnny and his family.

“I was. Born and raised, like a chicken.” Johnny grins.

Ten rolls his eyes. “I thought it was boredom pulling those jokes out of your ass, but it’s just your personality.”

Johnny feigns hurt, sprawling his hand against his chest. “You wound me.”

“Do you think cotton cord is stronger than satin?” Ten asks, ignoring Johnny’s teasing.

 

Johnny hums, leaning forward until his chest is clad against Ten’s back. Suddenly, Ten’s throat goes dry and his heart begins to beat rapidly. He can feel Johnny’s breath by his ear and if he were just a _little bit_ taller, Johnny could rest his chin on his shoulder without difficulty.

 

Johnny’s fingers are rough, calloused at the tips and beaten. Ten has never seen a set of fingers that worn out, yet still contained beauty on each finger. He watches Johnny twist his wrist to wrap the cord around his wrist and tugs on it, releasing the cotton cord to do that same to the satin. Ten’s fingers begin to itch and the weight of his camera around his neck feels heavier than normal. In the blink of an eye, Ten reaches down and grabs his camera before Johnny can retract his hand. He brings his eye down to the viewfinder and centers Johnny’s fingers, at the same time he feels Johnny exhale against his neck, Ten puts pressure on the trigger and the shutter clicks.

 

When he pulls the camera from his face, his cheeks on fire, he knows Johnny is looking at him. Low and behold, he looks over his shoulder where Johnny’s lips are inches away from his own, gaze melted onto the plump pink skin. When he raises his eyes, Johnny has an eyebrow raised. Anyone would guess that Johnny is confused, the raise in his eyebrow the result of a question, but Ten knows it’s not because he was staring at his lips, it’s not because of his breathing that suddenly stopped, or the hammering in his chest, it’s the curiosity of _why did Ten take a picture of my fingers?_

 

“You have nice hands.” Ten shyly says with a shrug.

 

And for once, Ten can see the colour of pink spread across Johnny’s fair skin. Instead of dotting on Johnny, Ten decides to change the topic. He means to change it to something _way_ off topic, like the weather, or the cord in front of them but when he looks down at his camera, his eye catches the little _36_ on the meter in the corner of his camera.

 

“Johnny.” Ten murmurs. The taller hums and Ten ignores the fluttering of his heart when he feels the rumble against his back. “I emptied it. My film, I’m done.”

 

Johnny looks away from Ten’s lips to gaze down at his camera instead, finding the same exact number that Ten sees.

 

“Do you want to go develop them?” Johnny asks, moving to stand beside Ten. He misses the warmth almost quickly as it left.

 

Ten is about to agree, pay for his stuff and leave but then he remembers that this roll is probably, most likely _full_ of Johnny. He doesn’t want to scare Johnny away, or have him think he’s some sort of creep. He likes Johnny, and _shit_ it’s the first time he’s actually confronting himself of his feelings.

 

“Ten?”

 

But Johnny is the only one who can do this. Sure, Johnny has been teaching him to do it for the past two weeks, but he can’t do it by _himself_.

 

“Sure. Let’s go.” Ten mumbles, dragging his basket cart to the cashier.

 

The entirety of paying, dropping his things off and returning to the studio, Ten is in full panic mode. Johnny had asked him several times if he was okay, to which he gave him the simple and tired excuse of ‘ _didn’t get much sleep’_. When they’re back in the dark room, Ten feels like screaming and he’s clutching his roll of film in a vice-like grip.

 

“Do you want me to do it, or are you good for me to stand by?” Johnny asks, voice muffled by the mask.

 

Ten nods.

 

Johnny chuckles. “Which one is it, Ten?”

 

Johnny’s asking about the film, he knows he is, but Ten can only think about some kind of deeper meaning behind the question. _Which one is it_. He wants to let Johnny know that he’s been his muse, ever since he stepped into the dingy studio, but he also doesn’t want to lose Johnny, even as a friend.

 

With a deep sigh, Ten hands the roll of film over to Johnny.

 

“You.”

 

Johnny timidly nods, relishing in the way his fingers brush against Ten’s when retrieving the canister of film.

 

The whole time they’re in the dark room, it’s filled with unspoken tension. The whole time, Ten can only think about the look on Johnny’s face when he sees the negatives of himself staring back at him. He’s so busy imagining the disgusted look on Johnny’ face that he doesn’t see the soft smile on the latter’s face when he pulls the negatives from the film tank.

 

“Ten.”

 

Ten gulps and turns to face Johnny with a dry throat. The mask is beginning to become damp from how much faster he’s begun to breath in the past fifteen minutes.

 

“Ten, look at me, darling.”

 

The pet name grabs Ten’s attention, the millisecond it takes the raise his head and stare at Johnny with hot cheeks.

 

“You really are gorgeous.” Johnny says, it’s the softness Ten’s ever heard his voice, which is ridiculous because everything about Johnny is soft. “C’mere.”

 

Ten lets Johnny pull him to the side, away from the chemicals as far as they can. When they’re on the other side of the room, Johnny takes off his mask first and then slowly reaches for Ten’s. There’s hesitance in Johnny’s movements, a sort of timidness that says _I’m nervous, aren’t you?_ Ten can only respond with the gentle touch of his fingers brushing Johnny’s cheek, as if to say _I am, but you’re more than enough to settle it._

 

When both of their masks are off, Ten’s heart is in his throat and Johnny’s hands are cupping his face, the sweet and soft movement of his thumbs brushing against his cheekbones. In the limited light of reds and brassy yellows, Ten can see Johnny’s eyes drifting from his eyes to his lips as he leans in. The taller stops just short of his lips, their breath mingling and their bodies pressed against each other. Johnny’s lips close for a moment before his tongue darts out to revive the slightly cracked pink skin. Ten sees Johnny’s eyes move back up to meet his own, as if ask, _can I?_ Ten nods, once but then rapidly.

 

That’s all it takes for Johnny to fall into Ten. Their lips press together, softly at first, just barely feeling each other, but then Johnny leans into him and with a sigh into his mouth, he tilts his head and kisses him like he means to fight off everything for Ten. When they pull away from each other, breathless and cloudy, Ten holds onto Johnny’s shoulders like he’s scared he’ll float away.

 

“I really wish I could’ve seen your face for our first kiss.” Johnny suddenly says.

 

Ten snorts, shoving Johnny on the shoulder before leaning his head forward onto the taller’s chest.

 

“But I wouldn’t take it back.” Johnny hums and Ten can not only feel the rumble of his voice, he can feel the hard drumming of his heart against his chest.

  
**S**

Ten finally managed to finish his living room, of course with a couple more bandages on his fingers and a few battered nails, but he did it. When Johnny had came into his living room, Ten doing his best to cover his eyes with his hands and standing on his tiptoes, he can vividly remember the starstruck look on Johnny’s face when the taller looked around his living room after announcing he can open his eyes.

 

The baby blue walls were dripping were fairy lights, iridescent brilliance filtering into the living room. The framed pictures of Ten’s work from their walks around the city, to the small details of Johnny that he sneakily captured, they all hung from the ceiling, surrounding the space. In the end, Ten had gone with the satin cord because, _“it looks prettier than cotton_.”

 

“I can’t believe you did all of this by yourself.” Johnny murmurs against Ten’s neck later when they're cuddling, legs stretched out on his tiny couch.

Ten hums, snuggling his head on top of Johnny’s. “I had help from you. Who else would’ve taught me to develop pictures and go on walks with me?”

“They’re your photos, baby.”

“Yeah, but they’re all about you.”

 

Ten gets an itch in his fingers when Johnny lifts his head and smiles as bright, if not brighter, than the lights hanging around his living room.

**Author's Note:**

> oof i love soft johnten
> 
> also, the "S" at the end is the beginning of a new roll of film when you put it in a camera, so one could say that's where johnten's journey begins :')


End file.
